


You're calling me home like a ship that got wrecked

by Elisexyz



Series: Whumptober 2019 (Black Sails) [6]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, M/M, Mentions of Silver/Madi and Flint/Thomas, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-12-27 13:43:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21119756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: The facts are: one, Flint is seemingly there, he has sought him out; two, he has come unarmed; three, he is speaking amicably.Obvious conclusion: Flint is nothing but a fragment of his imagination.





	You're calling me home like a ship that got wrecked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Hallucination" prompt in the Whumptober 2019 event. Title from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeqEzsXMTDg).  
  
Basically your regular post-canon, Flint And Silver Sort Of Making Up themed, fix-it. Because I was going to write one sooner or later LOL. Enjoy!

Upon hearing footsteps behind him, John can’t help the surge of hope overcoming him: perhaps, Madi has finally returned from her voyage and, although she left without so much as warning him that she’d be going, she returned having somehow found it within her to forgive him.

After all, who else would know to find him on that cliff?

The answer to that greets him with a quick grin and eyebrows shooting up. “What?” Flint asks, his tone light, after John has spent god knows how long blankly _staring_ at him. “Not even a hug?”

John swallows. For how much he blinks, the image just won’t go away. It doesn’t take too long before he elects that he doesn’t really want it to, instead getting up, crutch at hand and a lump in his throat that is not at all easy to ignore.

Yet, somehow, he musters up some levity of his own, fake as it may be. “Yeah, you see—” he begins, amicably. “This is clearly a dream, or an hallucination at most, and if I were to touch you there’s a good chance you’d disappear—I’d rather let this be for a little longer, if you don’t mind.”

Flint, or rather the embodiment of that little voice in John’s head that sounds so much like him and has been tormenting him since the day he all but killed him, merely snorts, crossing his arms and giving him that amused hint of a smile that John remembers all too well. “You believe me an hallucination,” he states, like it is absurd enough to be funny.

John shrugs, his smile growing more confident. If he lies to himself convincingly enough, he can almost believe that they went back to simpler times. “That does seem more credible than the fearsome Captain Flint asking for a hug, doesn’t it?”

Flint presses his lips together, considering him. “I suppose Thomas has me spoiled,” he concedes then.

John’s stomach shrinks, though it is with a little bit of relief that he starts seeing more clearly _how_ exactly this is an attempt made by his own mind to torture him some more. “That brings me to another excellent point,” he says, a touch bitterly. “Flint is way more likely to be enjoying having been reunited with his beloved Thomas Hamilton than to have travelled all the way back here.” To see _him_, nonetheless. Without even a pistol to make him regret ever crossing him.

“I brought him with me,” Flint easily counters. “He and Madi have spent most of the way here arguing about—just about anything, I suppose. They probably are still knees deep into a discussion as we speak.” A fond smile crosses his lips. “Thomas is delighted to have found someone as argumentative as him, though I don’t know how good that is for the rest of us—I doubt we will ever know peace from now on.”

Well, that’s nice. It paints an idyllic picture of a united family, the two people that John loves the most in this world happy and safe, within reach—

For a moment, he indulges a little in the fantasy, he imagines Madi arguing with the man whose strange face he has appointed to Thomas Hamilton, he imagines sitting beside Flint, knees brushing as his former captain smiles fondly at the scene.

The indulgence drags a small smile out of him, which gets quickly reflected on Flint’s face.

Then Flint takes a step forward, and John doesn’t even have to think before stumbling back, a rush of panic at the impending end of this. It’s torture, but it’s sweeter than an empty cliff, so he’ll take it.

“Not yet,” he blurts out, and it sounds a lot like begging.

Flint appears confused for a second, then realization hits, only to turn to exasperation. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he mutters. He steps forward, coming too close too quickly for John to stop him, and he traps his arm in a solid grip.

John can _feel_ his fingers, the heat radiating off his skin, and when he raises his eyes Flint is still there. He is pretty sure his brain just stopped working for a moment or two.

“I—what?” he breathes out, disbelief mixing with hopefulness and choking him.

“Not an hallucination,” Flint remarks. He pauses for a moment, then he pinches his arm, which gets a noise of protest from John. “Not a dream either,” Flint adds then, pointedly.

John can only blink at him, because—fuck, _is_ he real?

“Have you come to kill me?” he has to ask, the most logical explanation for any of this. He has to wonder if, in that case, Madi knows.

Flint raises his eyebrows, like he is being a little ridiculous. “I’m unarmed, aren’t I?”

John shrugs. “You could strangle me.” Though he probably shouldn’t be giving him any ideas.

Flint concedes the point with a brief head gesture. “That _has_ been a long-time fantasy of mine,” he jokes, a grin bubbling at his lips. John’s stomach takes a leap at the sight, reminding him of how much he has missed it. His face must not look too reassured, because Flint then sobers up, his tone gentle when he adds: “No, I am not here to kill you.”

“What are you here for then?”

Flint presses his lips together, pulling back slightly as a small smile flashes on his face. “Truthfully, I meant to yell at you.”

John snorts. “You’ve changed your mind then?” he prompts, his voice strong with bravado even with a lump in his throat barely letting him breathe.

“Finding you here might have softened me up a little,” he admits, searching for his eyes as he smiles slightly.

John doesn’t regret his decision, but there is hurt behind Flint’s eyes, and that sight is enough to make him drown in guilt. He stays silent, though he fears what Flint might fill it with.

“I trusted you.” Flint’s tone is not accusatory in the slightest, gentle and intimate in a way that perhaps hits him even harder than anger would have. “You stabbed me in the back.”

John swallows, clenching his jaw as he tries not to let his eyes fall to the ground, thus making the words of a liar appear even less trustworthy. “I shot you in the knee because I couldn’t risk you, or Madi, or god forbid _both_ of you, getting shot in the head,” is the only explanation he can offer, the ugly, bare truth. “I’m selfish like that.” He offers a brisk smile that probably came out all wrong.

Flint snorts. “I believe protecting our loved ones by any means necessary is—its own unique brand of selfishness,” he says, heavy with what John hopes and in equal measure _fears_ is understanding.

He cannot help, when silence falls again, filling it with the first words that rush to his mouth. “Good god, retirement has done wonders for your temper, it would seem,” he jokes, and maybe the mention of his forced exit from the world of piracy could stir up some anger, maybe he would resent the implication that John’s decision was ultimately for the _best_—maybe, a part of John does want this to turn ugly.

Because he can see acceptance, or at least _willingness_ to accept and forgive, creeping up on Flint’s face, and that might scare him more than an attempt at murdering him.

Violence he can deal with, it is the implication that Flint would somehow, for some incomprehensible reason, still want to extend his hand after all that has transpired that sends him down a spiral of panic.

“So it would seem,” Flint echoes, placid and soft and crushing any hope for a fight. His smile is a bit tentative, but it promises that there is no ending in sight, not as far as _he_ is concerned.

For the first time in a while, John doesn’t feel like there is some integral piece of him left behind somewhere on a cursed island.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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